


He Meets Her Completely By Accident

by wordsandstars



Series: Accidentally [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott McCall, Brief References to Abuse, College, F/M, Jackson is a douche, Mates, McCall Pack, Nothing in Beacon Hills sucks, There seems to be a lot of fluff, Werewolf Lydia, okay so in other news I suck at summaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 08:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1219972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsandstars/pseuds/wordsandstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles brings a newly bitten Lydia back to Beacon Hills with him from New York to the pack. Things progress from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Meets Her Completely By Accident

Stiles shouldn’t even be there in the first place. Three hours before his 10a.m. flight for California leaves, he should not be walking around the NYU campus—he should, in fact, be sleeping—but here he is, anyways.

He’s just finished his third year of college, and his whole being is itching to get back to Beacon Hills, and his pack. Wolf or not, he’s still just as much of a pack member as the rest of them, just like Allison, the only other human in the pack. She almost has an easier time than he does with the whole pack bond thing, being Scott’s mate, but Stiles is Scott’s right hand man and second in command, has been from the beginning, so he gets along easily.

Stiles knows, using that same pack bond, that the rest of them are itching for him to be back in Beacon Hills too. Allison, last he checked, headed back yesterday from Quebec—some kind of French scholarship—, Erica and Boyd are already back from their respective colleges, Cora had been back for almost a week, and Scott and Isaac were going to the community college just outside Beacon Hills, so they’d never left. Derek had alternated between living in Cora’s off-campus apartment with her and staying in the rebuilt Hale house—more like Pack headquarters now—with Scott and Isaac. Stiles is the only one not home at this point.

Three years of this, and they still aren’t used to being separated. They probably never will be, because it was just one more year before they all are college graduates, and therefore able to be back together again, wherever they want to go.

The bond is mostly what’s been keeping him awake and antsy the whole night. He’d finally given up on sleep twenty minutes ago, when the sun started to rise into view again. He’d been up and walking around the campus ever since, room already packed and ready for him to leave it.

The courtyard he’s walking through is at the very edge of the campus, and there’s a thick cluster of trees next to it; Stiles isn’t sure where it leads, even now.

A girl crashes through it suddenly, red—strawberry blond?—hair tangled around her face and clothes ripped and bloodied. She doesn’t seem to be actually hurt though, save the large patch of blood on her right side. She almost crashes into him, too busy looking behind her to see him in front of her, but he catches her before she can.

“Hey, whoa!” he says as she struggles against his hold. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you!”

She whimpers, looking at his face. He supposes she sees the sincerity, because she falls limp against him, crying.

“Oh my God,” she cries. “You have to help me, he-he _attacked_ me and oh my God I’ve been running all night he wouldn’t stop chasing me oh my-” her words tangle together into a mess he can’t understand.

“Calm down,” he says again, and picks her up when she sobs harder and stumbles sideways. She’s barefoot too, he notices.

“Come on, I’ll take you to my dorm and patch you up,” he says, carrying her easily in the direction of the hall he’s rooming in.

The girl doesn’t question him, merely laying her head on his shoulder and crying silently, reaching up and clutching his favourite red hoodie in her surprisingly small hands.

His dorm is almost on the other side of the campus, but she’s tiny and he’s strong from years of training, running and fighting with the pack, not to mention all the school sports he’s done over the years, so they make it there in a little under fifteen minutes. His roommate left with his girlfriend for the summer yesterday, so the room’s empty.

Stiles sets the girl down on his bed and gently pries her hands off of his sweater before going over to his carry-on bag sitting on his desk to get the first-aid kit he always keeps close by. The pack might be mostly werewolves, but he’s not, and he’s never quick to forget it. Especially not with all the scars littering his body he’s acquired over the years.

He leaves the room quickly to wet a cloth in the washroom down the hall, and starts cleaning the blood off of her bare arms and legs when he returns. She’s only wearing a tank top and shorts, and she’s shivering.

“Here,” he says, shrugging out of his hoodie and helping her get it on; he’s finished with her arms, anyway. For all the blood that’s on her, there aren’t a lot of scratches on her, but he doesn’t dwell on it.

“Thanks,” she whispers.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Lydia,” she answers, rubbing her arms through the soft and warm fabric. It’s his favourite sweater for more reasons than the endless Red Riding Hood they all like to make about it.

“Okay. Can you tell me what happened, Lydia?”

She nods, and says shakily, “I go to Yale, and my boyfriend Jackson goes here. He just finished his third year and I just graduated.” At this she smiles proudly, and he smiles back as he consults a rather large bruise on her wrist. It’s an ugly yellow shade and roughly the shape of a hand, finger marks easily identifiable, and it’s fading suspiciously quickly. He furrows his eyebrows at it while she continues,

“Jackson’s always been kind of abusive. Just a slap here or a punch there, whenever he got angry, which was a lot, admittedly.” His hands freeze on her arm, and she notices, but keeps going.

“So, he’s been wanting me to come out here for a while, but I’ve been so busy that I just couldn’t come out. But Yale lets out earlier than NYU, so I figured I’d come out and surprise him before we go back home for the summer.

“But he was so _mad_ when I showed up at his dorm, and I didn’t understand-” she’s started crying again, clutching at his hands and barely getting the words out “and then he took me out into the woods last night, saying all this weird stuff about figuring out a way to control me, and his teeth and ears got all weird and his eyes glowed red and, he bit me!” She lets out a high pitched sob, lurching forward on the bed to use Stiles’ shoulder to cry into. His hands come up to pat her back mechanically, eyes wide and mouth open.

“You’re sure his eyes were red?” he says.

She pulls away from him, wiping her eyes and smudging her mascara further. “Yes,” she sniffles. “But why does that matter?”

“Lydia,” he says urgently, ignoring her question for now, “I need to see the bite.”

“What? Why?”

“Let me see it,” he says, and something in his voice makes her pull up her shirt. There’s a bite there, red with dried blood, and healing slower than the rest of her injuries. Scott had taken a picture of his bite, and the one on Lydia’s small waist is near identical to that.

“Shit,” he whispers quietly, rocking back on his heels and running his hands through his hair. “Shit.”

“What?!” Lydia says in a shrill voice. “Am I going to die?”

“Uh-what time did he bite you? Do you know?” Stiles forces himself to think rationally; he’s not going to lie to this girl, this sweet, naïve, beautiful young woman.

“Um.” Lydia wets her lips, eyes darting around the room; everything about her screams fear. “Like, nine? I started running then, ‘cause I got, like, really freaked out. Who wouldn’t?”

Stiles relaxes slightly. She’s not going to die then, most likely. He grabs her hands again, and looks her in the eyes.

“Lydia, you need to listen to me. Jackson was, is, a werewolf, and an Alpha one, and now you’re one too. I swear I’m not lying to you. I swear.”

More tears. “Oh my God,” she gasps out. She doesn’t question him, though, and he’s glad for it. If she’s smart enough to graduate early, she’s probably smart enough to know how someone’s heartbeat is when they lie anyways.

“It’s going to be okay,” Stiles says firmly. “I’m part of a werewolf pack. They’re back in California. I’m going to take you back with me, and we’re going to help you. It’s going to be hard, I’m not going to lie to you, but you’re going to be fine, Lydia. I promise.”

She searches his eyes, apparently only finding truth and determination, because she nods shakily.

“I don’t even know your name,” she sniffs.

“It’s Stiles,” he laughs quietly.

“Stiles,” she repeats. “What the hell is a Stiles?”

He laughs a little. “A nickname made by a five year old who didn’t know how to spell his own name,” he says.

She laughs too, just barley. “Okay, Stiles,” she sounds like she’s testing how it sounds on her tongue. “Are you a wolf?”

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’, and she winces slightly. “Sorry. Your ears are going to be majorly sensitive for a while, and your nose. But no, I’m not a wolf. Neither is Allison though, but she has Scott. He’s the Alpha, by the way. They’re not all as bad as Jackson is though, don’t worry.”

“Okay,” Lydia says. “How are we getting there?”

“Well, I have a flight booked home in-” he checks his watch, “-two and a half hours. I’ll see if I can get you a ticket too. Derek—he’s in the pack too—is loaded, and Allison and Isaac aren’t that far behind, so we should be good. 10a.m. first class seats to California on a Wednesday usually aren’t too full.”

She nods. “Thank you.”

He nods. “Anytime.”

Stiles goes into the hallway to call the airport first, and no, there’s no problem getting him another seat on the plane next to him, and would he like the ticket available for him at the gate? That’s fine, see you for your flight.

Next, he calls Scott.

“Sup Alphy,” he greets when Scott picks up, groaning sleepily when he hears Stiles’ greeting.

“I keep on telling you not to tell me that,” Scott complains on the other end, and Stiles thinks he hears Allison laugh in the background. “What happened to me being your Alpha?”

“It lasted approximately three seconds, at which point I remembered every piece of blackmail I’ve gathered on you since our friendship began,” Stiles answers easily, just like he does every time Scott mentions it. He glances behind him into his room to see Lydia curled up on his stripped bed. “Allison back yet?”

“Yeah.” Scott’s voice takes on a dreamy tone. “Got back last night. Still getting over jet lag, but she’s happy to be back. When are you coming again, man? Everyone else is here.”

“My flight leaves in a couple hours,” he answers. “Oh, and uh, I’m bringing someone back with me.”

“Whoa, what?” For the first time since they started talking, Scott sounds fully awake. To be fair, it is like five right now in Beacon Hills. Stiles suspects the only reason Scott’s awake in the first place is because of Allison. “Dude, what?”

“Her name’s Lydia.” The girl twitches slightly on the bed upon hearing her name, looking at him with wide eyes. He gives her a thumbs-up, and she smiles slightly before laying her head down again. “She got bit last night.”

“Oh,” Scott says. “Do you know by who?”

“Her boyfriend, apparently. Although I’m going to guess there’s an ‘ex’ somewhere in there know that he’s turned her into a freaking werewolf.”

“How long ago was she bit?” Scott asks.

“You sound so much like an Alpha right now,” Stiles comments. “Almost twelve hours ago. She’s already showing the signs, man. I’m just glad we’re not a night away from the full moon like we were when you were bit.”

Scott laughs a little. “Yeah. She’ll have what, two weeks? And she’s coming with you, you said?”

“Sixteen days,” Stiles corrects automatically.  “And yeah. Just wanted to make sure it was okay with the all-powerful Alpha first.”

“You already bought her ticket, didn’t you.” It’s not even a question.

“You know me so well,” Stiles replies. “I’m swooning.”

“Shut up,” Scott laughs. “But yeah, dude, of course it’s cool. It’s not like we could leave her there.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Stiles ducks his head into the room again. “Well, that’s adorable,” he says, “Even if she’s totally stretching my hoodie.”

“What?” Scott asks.

“Hang on.” He takes the phone away from his ear to take a picture of Lydia, knees to her chest and red hoodie pulled over them, hood up so her whole body is engulfed in it. Then he sends it to Scott. There’s a ping in his ear when Scott gets it, then a small laugh.

“She is definitely going to stretch that,” is all he says, and Stiles laughs back.

“And yet, I couldn’t care less. See you at the airport later, Scotty.”

“See you soon,” is what Scott returns, and then hangs up.

Lydia’s sleeping now, arm under her head to act as a pillow, so Stiles grabs his MacBook out of his bag and surfs the Internet and plays Solitaire for a while.

He wakes her back up just a half hour later, when they need to get ready to leave.

“Hmm?” she says sleepily, lifting her head up.

“We need to be getting ready to go soon,” he tells her. “Did you have anything you wanted to bring?”

She shakes her head as she sits up. “I didn’t have a lot to begin with, and all of it’s in Jackson’s dorm room. Maybe if I’m lucky he’ll send it to my dad or something.”

“And where does he live?” Stiles asks, suddenly worried about a protective father who won’t approve of his (gorgeous) daughter being a werewolf and going to join a werewolf pack with a guy she barely knows.

“Europe.” Lydia’s tone is clipped. “I haven’t seen him since I was ten and left for private school with my mom. He sends me anything I want, but…” she trails off, and shrugs.

“Sorry,” Stiles says quietly, and she shrugs again. “And your mom?”

“She travels a lot, now that I’m in college. I don’t see her that often, either. Maybe she went back to Dad; I don’t really care.”

“Okay, so, um, hey, do you want to borrow some clothes that aren’t bloody?” he asks, pointing with his thumb towards one of his bags; maybe now isn’t the best time to breach family issues. “I probably have something of one of the girls’ you can wear.”

“I think I’d probably be more comfortable in something of yours,” she admits quietly, then reaches up to tap her nose. “Your scent is comforting,” she explains, and he nods.

“So, who’s in this pack?” Lydia asks while he digs through a suitcase.

“There’s eight of us, including me. Scott, our Alpha and my best friend since forever, Allison, his mate—you’ll like her, she’s cool—Erica, Isaac, Boyd, Cora, our betas, and Derek, who’s technically a beta too, but doesn’t really act like it. Aha!” he finishes, finding a pair of sweatpants that are too small on him and one of his old Iron Man t-shirts. He holds them up for her, and she smiles at them and nods.

He looks pointedly at the wall while she changes into them.

“Stiles?” Her voice is hesitant.

“Yeah?” _Don’t look back, she might not be finished, damn It Stiles._

“Do you have any shoes I could borrow too? I was wearing heels.”

He nods and starts going through his suitcase again, glad to have something to do.

For reasons unknown, there’s a pair of Allison’s flats in the first bag he looks in.

“These okay?” he asks, holding them up. She nods again, and slips into them. They’re a little big, but they’re manageable. He shows her to the washroom down the hall so she can clean her face off and wrangle her hair into a ponytail, so she looks somewhat okay for the public.

Lydia helps him with his suitcases, and soon enough they’re headed to the airport in a taxi. They pick up her ticket, check in his suitcases, go through the ever-tedious airport security, and then finally get on the plane. Lydia’s tense the whole time, newly developed senses being assaulted by the sounds, scents and sights of a far-too public place for a new werewolf.

_On plane,_ he texts Scott. _Will be taking off soon._

_k. Allison and I will be there to pick you up,_ Scott texts back.

He turns off his phone a few minutes later when the flight attendant asks him to. She asks Lydia too, at which point Lydia tells her she broke it—intentionally, but the flight attendant doesn’t need to know that—on the way over here.

When the plane does take off, Lydia winces at the sound of the engines and hides her face in his chest. She doesn’t wolf-out though, Stiles’ arms around her and his breath on her hair seeming to ground her with every second. She falls asleep shortly after, and the flight attendant that passes them is nice enough to get his laptop out from his bag and the tray set up for it.

“You two are adorable,” she half-whispers before she leaves, and he smiles and puts in his earbuds so he can watch downloaded episodes of Doctor Who on his laptop.

Lydia doesn’t wake up again until Stiles nudges her back into her seat so her seatbelt isn’t stretched to its limits for landing. She groans and settles for leaning her head on his shoulder instead, eyes still closed.

“I’m not carrying you around again,” he tells her, and her eyes flutter open. They’re practically glittering, a gorgeous green that he finds himself wanting to get lost in.

“Shame,” she sighs.

“Maybe next time,” he promises teasingly, and she smiles at him.

Allison and Scott are waiting for them in the terminal. All of Stiles’ luggage is already next to them. Stiles doesn’t bother to ask why or how; he’s way too used to the weird ways of werewolves.

Allison squeals when she sees him and starts running. He unwinds his arm from Lydia’s shoulder and hold them open for Allison. She jumps into them and hugs him tightly. They’d gotten closer when her mom had died and he’d been the only person around willing to talk to her who knew how it felt.

He hears Scott come up behind him, and lets go of Allison so he can hug his best friend.

“It’s not the same around Beacon Hills without you,” Scott says as they pull away.

“Well duh, you can’t break half as many laws and get away with them without me,” Stiles says back without missing a beat. Scott grins goofily at him.

He steps back next to Lydia, putting his arm back around her shoulders and squeezing; she leans into him immediately, melting against his side. “This is Lydia. Lydia, this is Allison and Scott.”

She nods, obviously remembering their conversation from his dorm and recognizing the names. “Hi,” she says to them, hesitant. “Thanks for letting Stiles bring me.”

“He would’ve brought you even if we hadn’t,” Scott tells her honestly. “But we’re always happy to help. Being a new wolf isn’t easy.”

She shakes her head, leaning further into Stiles. “It’s really loud. I can hear like, everything.”

“That guy really needs to get off of his cell phone,” is Scott’s answer, tilting his head in the direction of the airport’s café. Stiles and Allison both laugh when Lydia nods in agreement.

“Alright then, does that mean we can be heading back? Because I wanted to be home like, yesterday.”

Allison drapes her arm over Lydia’s other shoulder and starts tugging her and Stiles towards the exit.

“I like your jacket,” Lydia tells her.

Allison looks down, apparently forgetting what she’s wearing. “Oh yeah! It’s one of my favourites. I got it in a boutique in San Francisco my mom used to work at.”

“That’s so cool. My dad always sends me clothes from Europe.”

From there, their conversation continues all the way out to car and into it. Lydia unwinds herself from Stiles until she’s only holding on to his hand, but he doesn’t mind, instead striking up a conversation with Scott.

He does let go of her so he can slide past Allison and get to shotgun before she does, laughing in her face.

“I am King!” he announces, and Lydia giggles as she follows a grumbling Allison into the backseat of Scott’s car (he’d finally gotten one halfway through their second year of college).

Lydia and Allison continue talking once Scott’s started driving.

“Well, I think we just saw the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Stiles tells Scott, leaning back in his seat.

Scott glances back at the two girls animatedly talking to each other in the backseat, and smiles. “Yeah. So how’d she get bit anyways? Boyfriend, right?”

“Controlling, abusive ex-boyfriend, I believe. Who apparently thought it was a good idea to bite his girlfriend so he could control her more, as an Alpha, since I guess he never mated with her and thought that was a good alternative.”

Scott’s face is as incredulous as Stiles imagines his own to be. “Okay, but what about the bond between Alpha and Beta? Won’t that affect her?”

Stiles sighs. “Dude, you’re _still_ unprepared for this, aren’t you? No, I don’t think it’s going to, for two reasons. One, distance makes any bond weaker, regardless of how strong that bond is, which is another reason why I don’t think any of us enjoy being so far apart for college, by the way. I mean, our pack bond is probably stronger than most, actually, but it still feels weird.”

“What’s the second reason?” Scott asks, nodding along.

“This one we’ll have to confirm with Derek, but I’m pretty sure after my countless hours of research over the years—you’re welcome, by the way—that is she has another pack, and Alpha, any kind of bond she had with Jackson is pretty much gone.”

“Huh.”

“So he won’t be able to control me, then?” Lydia says from the backseat. Stiles whips around to look at her. She looks sheepish, and scared, one finger pointing to her ear. “Advanced hearing.”

Stiles nods. “Yeah, duh. But, uh, no, I don’t think he’ll be able to, no.”

“Good,” she says. Her eyes have the slightest yellow twinge to them, but it disappears when she reaches forward and weaves her fingers through his before returning to her conversation with Allison.

Stiles shrugs at Scott’s weird look and spends the rest of the drive to Beacon Hills with his arm twisted behind him while talking to Scott about NYU.

They go to the Stilinski house once they get to Beacon Hills first, so Stiles can drop off the less important stuff in his old bedroom and hug his dad. He introduces Lydia—who’s already comfortable enough to be merely standing halfway between him and Allison and Scott on the porch—to his dad, who greets her warmly. He explains her situation to his dad quickly, and he nods sagely.

“Scott’s a good kid,” he tells Lydia. “That whole pack is. You’re going to be fine, trust me.”

Tears are in the backs of her eyes when she nods back, smiling. Allison’s phone dings then, and she looks down at it.

“Isaac says the pack is getting antsy. They want Stiles back and to meet the new pack member.” She looks at Lydia, explains, “It’s kinda new to us,” and then looks to Scott. “Pack night?”

He nods. “Let’s get going, then.”

Stiles hugs his dad one more time, promising he’ll come over sometime in the next week to have dinner and catch up. “Can’t guarantee how long you’ll be waiting, though,” he says. “You know how clingy wolves are.”

His dad laughs and tosses him the keys to his jeep before he leaves. Lydia drives with him and Allison with Scott, who he follows to the pack house, where the Hale house used to be.

“Where’s your mom?” Lydia asks, and Stiles startles.

“Oh. She, um, she died when I was nine.”

“I’m sorry,” Lydia says, voice quiet.

Stiles shrugs. “S’okay. You didn’t know, and I’m okay with it, mostly. We have a club anyway. Allison lost her mom a few years ago, and Isaac and Derek have lost both of their parents, so every once in a while we get together and get drunk and cry. It’s fun. Werewolves can get drunk, by the way, it just takes a lot more alcohol.”

Lydia doesn’t say anything back, just hums and leans closer to him.

He parks next to Scott in the clearing in front of the house shortly after; the pack is all outside waiting for them, and practically knock him over when he gets out of his car. From there it’s hugs and unashamed scent-marking. Allison and Scott join in a few seconds into it, not wanting to be left out.

“Well, glad to know I was missed,” Stiles says when they finally let him breathe. He looks around to find Lydia still in the jeep. He opens her door, and asks,

“Hey, coming out any time soon?”

She does, and Stiles introduces her to the pack. Isaac’s the first to hug her; he’s always been touch-hungry.

“You smell like Stiles,” is the first thing he says when he pulls back, and Stiles snorts.

“Yeah, these are his,” Lydia answers, gesturing to the clothes she’s currently sporting. “Mine were kind of bloody and I didn’t have anything else to wear. I still have my credit card, though. I carry it everywhere, because you never know when you might need to shop.”

“Tomorrow,” Allison announces, laughing, “we are going to go shopping. Cora and Erica too. The guys can stay here and game their brains out.”

“Is it wrong how awesome that sounds?” Stiles asks Boyd, who’s closest to him. Boyd shakes his head, and gives Stiles a rare grin.

They head inside shortly after. Everyone heads for the living room or kitchen to set up movies or sit and to get snacks. Derek will inevitably order pizza when it gets later in the day.

 Stiles slides into the last seat on the couch seconds before Lydia does, so she responds by sitting in his lap and curling up there without hesitating. He laughs, surprised, but circles her waist with his arms just the same. Erica, who’s sitting next to them, pulls Lydia’s feet across her lap until her toes are just brushing Boyd’s thigh. Allison and Scott have already snagged the loveseat and are curled up themselves, but Allison reaches a hand over to rest on Lydia’s upper arm. Isaac and Cora come in with snacks and bottles of pop, Derek right behind them with cups for everyone. He goes for his usual armchair afterwards, so Isaac and Cora go for the floor in front of the couch, dragging bean bags over from closer to the TV to sit on. Isaac reaches up and puts an arm both Lydia’s and Stile’ legs, while Cora gets up again to plug in a movie.

“What are we watching?” she asks, consulting the two bookshelves full of DVD cases.

“I say Lydia picks out our first,” Stiles says. “Considering she’s clearly been accepted, if the amount of people touching us are anything to go by.”

“I don’t mind,” she says, sounding relaxed for the first time since he’s met her. She glances down at her t-shirt again, then says,

“Iron Man?”

Stiles grins as Cora nods and looks for the DVD before setting it up.

They end up watching the whole trilogy, telling stories of the past year during (what they deem) the boring parts. Lydia tells them snippets of her life, Jackson, Yale, everything and anything she can think of, but makes sure to shut up whenever a part she likes comes on the screen.

They order pizza somewhere between Iron Man 3 and Captain America. When they finish those movies, they move on to the Thor ones. There’s an ice cream shop in town that delivers 24 hours, so they order way too much sometime around 9p.m. It’s almost 1a.m when they finish their marathon, and Lydia’s curled up completely on Stiles, seemingly asleep. He jostles her gently, once, and she grumbles and hides her face further in his neck.

“Go away,” she mumbles, and Allison giggles into her hand.

“Didn’t I tell you I was not going to carry you again?” Stiles says, completely ignoring the packs’ eyes boring into him.

“You said, ‘maybe next time’,” Lydia mumbles, opening her eyes to stare at him. “It’s next time.”

“Fine,” he sighs. “But our guest bedroom isn’t actually ready for guests, and I’m not willing to let you have my bed to yourself, so you’re going to have to share, missy.”

He stands up easily, lifting Lydia like she’s nothing. “’Night, guys,” he says to the pack, before turning with Lydia in tow and heading up the stairs to his room. His suitcases, though in the room, are still packed, but his bed here has its own sheets, blankets, and pillows that he always leaves behind so he doesn’t have to worry about unpacking his first night back.

Just before he gets out of earshot, he hears Allison say to the room,

“That it the cutest thing I have ever seen.”

Sure enough, his bed has the same blue comforter and green pillows it did when he left at the end of August last summer. Stiles sets Lydia down on it, and then changes his jeans to pajama bottoms. He digs his toothbrush and toothpaste out of one of smaller bags and heads into the en suite bathroom. When he comes out, Lydia’s underneath the blankets, strawberry blond—yeah, definitely not just red—hair strewn across one of his pillows.

Stiles climbs in beside her, intent on sleeping underneath blankets but not wanting to spook her, so he sticks to the far edge of the bed, even if he wants to get closer. Lydia apparently feels the same way about the latter, because when he wakes up halfway through the night, Lydia’s curled around him so completely he couldn’t move if he wanted to.

It’s another few hours later, when he’s back to drifting somewhere between sleeping and being awake, Lydia shifts against him. She lifts her head and looks around the room, obviously confused; he guesses by what.

“The bedrooms are all soundproofed,” Stiles says sleepily. “Werewolf approved.”

“Why?” Lydia asks, but she’s already relaxing again, lying her head back down.

“Because Scott and Allison are loud,” he says. “Plus, everyone likes their privacy, especially me. I’ve always found it a little creepy that I couldn’t hear anyone else but they could hear me.”

“Makes sense,” Lydia says. “What time is it?”

Stiles turns his head so he can look at the clock on his nightstand. “Seven a.m.,” he answers. “So, ten for us. Allison might be up, but everyone else is probably still sleeping.”

“Where’d she go to school?” Lydia asks, debating on getting out of bed or just staying where she is, curled up into Stiles’ comforting warmth.

“Quebec.”

“Does she speak French?”

“Yeah. You speak anything other than English?”

“Seven other languages, actually. And I read over fifteen.”

“Jesus, you are smart, aren’t you?” Stiles lets out a short laugh.

“IQ of 176,” she says proudly. “What about you?”

“With what? Languages?” When she nods, he continues, “Yeah. Polish, Spanish, Latin, some French.”

“Polish and Latin?” The other two make sense, but those two don’t to her.

“Yeah. Latin, ‘cause basically every bestiary ever is written in it, and Polish because that’s why my mom grew up, and she taught me it. We used to speak it to each other to piss my dad off.”

Lydia goes to say something else, maybe comfort him somehow, but the smell of maple syrup wafts up under the door, and her stomach betrays her by growling loudly. Stiles smirks knowingly and begins to untangle himself out of the blankets. He ends up tumbling out of the bed completely; the thump he makes is painful to Lydia’s sensitive ears, but she laughs at him anyway, hair falling around her face as she leans over the side of the bed to look at him.

“You’re an idiot,” she tells him in a matter-of-fact voice.

“So I’ve been told,” he says. “C’mon, let’s get you some food.”

Allison is indeed in the kitchen, making pancakes. Beside her is a massive jug of maple syrup.

“Dude, did you bring this back from Quebec?” Stiles asks, reaching forward to grab the bottle and read the label. He acts as if she doesn’t bring it back with her every time she comes back.

“Yeah. They practically drink it over there,” Allison replies, like she does every other time too, and grins. She gestures to a steaming stack of pancakes. “Help yourselves. No one else will probably be up for a while.”

Stiles and Lydia do, and then help Allison clean up the kitchen. Once that’s done, Stiles sets himself to reorganizing the DVD shelf—leave for nine months, and all organization goes out the window, clearly—while Lydia and Allison plan their shopping trip.

Cora’s the first one up, sometime around 8:30. She doesn’t question them being awake, just sets her sights on coffee and making herself bacon and eggs. Scott comes downstairs shortly after, hair sticking up in different directions and groggy-looking. He plunks right down next to Allison on the couch and grumbles,

“It’s too early for you guys to be up.”

“Eastern time zones,” Stiles reminds Scott from where he’s on the floor surrounded by DVDs. “Nothing we can do about it.”

Scott just grumbles again. Slowly but surely, the rest of the pack wake up, and Allison makes more pancakes for them while Lydia joins Stiles in his organization.

“You have a lot of movies,” she says as she tries to figure out his piling system.

“Yeah. It’s everyone’s pre-pack collections, plus what we’ve bought together. Feel free to add whatever you want to it, by the way. Just don’t make sure we don’t already have it.”

“Do you have the Notebook?” She thinks she’s finally figured it out, but she keeps watching. His hands are mesmerizing to watch, she finds. He blinks at her, finally looking up so that she does too.

“Um, yeah, actually. Allison likes it, and Cora pretends not to. You like it?”

“It’s my favourite movie. Even if it’s old.”

“Like whatever you want to like,” Stiles says, tossing another two DVDs onto a pile Lydia thinks is Action. “I’m still a sucker for The Mummy. And everyone likes The Princess Bride.”

Lydia laughs, but doesn’t get a chance to reply. Allison sticks her head into the room instead and says,

“Hey Lydia, Erica and Cora are finished, so we’re getting ready to go. Want to borrow something from me until you get new clothes?”

Lydia can’t really say no, so she leaves Stiles with his organizing and follows Allison into her and Scott’s room. Allison shoves her into the shower first, and when she comes out wrapped in a towel the other girl lets her pick whatever she wants out of her side of the closet.

Lydia ends up picking one of Allison’s shortest skirts, and a pretty shirt that gets almost completely covered up when she puts Stiles’ sweater back on.

“Stiles is never getting that back, is he?” Allison laughs as they head back into the washroom to do hair and make-up.

“Probably not,” Lydia admits.

Allison says something about maybe getting their hair done while they’re out, and definitely getting make-up done, so Lydia sticks to a simple braid down her back and using some of Allison’s foundation.

Back downstairs, Stiles is done organizing movies and has moved on to setting up a gaming system Lydia can’t name with Scott while Boyd looks through games with Isaac and Derek pretends not to be interested. Cora and Erica are waiting for them, so they say their goodbyes and head to the mall in Allison’s car.

“Don’t forget to get her a phone!” Stiles calls after them. (In reality, he barely raises his voice, and even that’s solely for Allison’s benefit).

The girls head for the hair salon at the front of the mall first. Lydia buys all of her favourite products there, and gets her hair properly done.

“Nails next,” Erica says. “You’re going to be growing claws; you don’t need another pair when you’re human.”

“It’s not my fault I spent ten hours running through a fucking forest,” Lydia grumbles. Allison gives her a sympathetic pat on her shoulder as she wraps her arm around them.

All four of them get their nails done; Cora’s are black, Erica’s bright red, Allison’s purple, and Lydia’s a brilliant pink.

After that, they stop at a kiosk to get Lydia a new phone, and then they start the actual shopping of their trip. They go to almost every store in the mall (including Victoria’s Secret, by the way, because clothes isn’t the only thing she needs), and Lydia loses count of how many things she both tries on and buys. The first outfit she buys she wears the rest of the day, and by the time they stop for a late lunch she feels more like herself.

“We’re finally seeing the real Lydia,” Allison muses over her Chinese food.

“I’m usually more of a bitch, actually,” Lydia says, picking at her salad. “But that was really only to keep up with Jackson and his equally asshole friends. Or pack, I guess.”

“Well, as long as you don’t act like a bitch all the time, you’re fine with us,” Erica says. “We’re all bitchy or assholish sometimes. Especially Cora and Stiles.”

“Stiles is more sarcastic than asshole,” Allison muses.

“And I consider myself deadpan,” Cora adds.

“Fine, fine,” Erica says, waving her fork around. “No one cares. The point is, just don’t be bitch central, and you’re good.”

“Okay,” Lydia says. “Where to next?”

“More clothes, shoes, and make-up,” Cora says, and Lydia grins.

Despite almost wolfing-out on an annoying store clerk who takes Lydia as a complete ditz, the shoe shopping is her favourite part of the day. She ends up buying nearly fifteen pairs of shoes, over half of them being heels above 3 inches.

“I’m short,” Lydia defends when Allison teases her about this. “I have to get height some way. Besides, they make my legs look good.”

“The short skirts help too,” Erica says, leaning against the wall. Cora snorts, then nods in agreement.

Their final stop is to get Lydia’s make-up done and then buy her her own products to use. Then they head back home; it’s nearly six by then, and Stiles has already texted saying he’s started dinner.

“Does Stiles usually cook?” Lydia asks.

Throughout the course of the day, the girls have been filling her in on basic things about each member of the pack—and she privately thinks she’ll undoubtedly end up knowing more about Stiles before anyone else—but there are still large holes in her knowledge.

“Yeah,” Allison answers. “Most of us cook at least once a month, except Scott and Erica, they’re both terrible in the kitchen”—Erica doesn’t even protest—“but Stiles does every other day, unless we do take-out.”

Sure enough, Lydia starts smelling what she thinks is pasta and garlic bread halfway down the road to the house. Once they get closer, Stiles’ babbling to Scott gets picked up by her new super senses too, as well as weird noises she decides has to be their latest video game.

Inside, her thoughts are confirmed. Isaac and Boyd are both in front of the TV, controllers in hand and unidentifiable monsters being shot on the screen. Derek’s next to them on the couch, watching the screen just as intently as they are. Stiles’ voice is coming from the kitchen, Scott’s chiming in occasionally.

Lydia hears something in the kitchen get turned off when they come inside, and Stiles and Scott come in to the hall a second later.

“Jeez, how much did you buy?” Stiles exclaims, moving forward to help them with the gross number of shopping bags.

“A girl needs a proper wardrobe,” Lydia says matter-o-factly.

“Sure, sure,” Stiles says.

“So where’s all this going?” Scott asks.

“Nowhere, for now,” Stiles answers before anyone can answer. “Dinner’s ready.”

Dinner is indeed pasta (in penne form) with homemade garlic bread and caesar salad. Conversation is pretty much an altered form of 20 questions, meaning unless it’s Lydia’s turn to ask, she’s the one answering. It continues into dessert, which is—also homemade—apple pie.

“Where did you learn to cook?” Lydia asks finally, although something in her suspects the answer won’t be entirely happy.

Her suspicions are confirmed when Stiles clears his throat somewhat awkwardly and answers,

“My dad kind of sucked at it, and condolence casseroles really only go so far, so I learned a lot by trial and error as a ten year old.”

“Who shouldn’t have been allowed by a stove half the time,” Scott adds. Stiles throws a fork at him in retaliation; Scott catches it easily, so Stiles throws a spare one while Scott’s distracted, hitting him neatly in the forehead.

“Ha!” Stiles says, grinning. “Someone else saw that right? The human got past the werewolf reflexes!”

Lydia, along with the rest of the pack, laugh at both Stiles’ antics and the kicked puppy look Scott’s currently sporting.

They spend some time sitting around the table talking before heading up to bed. They all help with bringing up Lydia’s things into the guest bedroom before they say goodnight.

Lydia spends twenty minutes tossing and turning in her new bed in the guest bedroom before she fully gives up on sleep. Outside, the moon—still extremely thin and barely showing through the cloud cover—shines brightly through her window, and she can feel the pull of it.

“Oh, fuck it,” she mutters, and slides out of the bed.

Stiles’ room is across the hall and two doors down from her. She knocks once, then opens the door slightly.

“Stiles?” she asks hesitantly.

“Lydia, that you?” Stiles’ voice says from the bed. “What’s up?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she says, slowly inching into the room and closing the door behind her. “The moon is like right outside my window. Can I sleep in here?”

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles replies, voice muffled by his pillow. The blankets on one side of the bed flip up for her, and she rushes forward to slip under them. She cuddles up right to Stiles immediately, and any part of her that is still itching to go outside and wolf-out disappears. She falls asleep to Stiles’ heartbeat in her ear and one of his hands smoothing over her hair.

She doesn’t wake up again until the door to Stiles’ room opens and Allison says,

“Hey Stiles, have you seen-oh, Lydia.”

Lydia lifts one arm in a sleepy wave and rolls further into Stiles, who snorts. He’s obviously more awake then she is, then.

“Lydia,” he chides gently before returning his attention to Allison, who’s leaning up against the doorway and smirking at the two of them. “What’s up?”

“I was going to ask Lydia if she wanted a tour of Beacon Hills, you know, learn the town, and maybe get some stuff to decorate her room with,” Allison says, “but I don’t think that second one will be necessary.”

“Probably not,” Stiles relents. Looking down at Lydia, he asks, “Are we going to be moving all your new stuff into here?”

Her eyes flutter open to look at him pleadingly. “Yes? The tour sounds good though.”

“Okay,” Allison says; she’s watching them with obvious amusement. “No one else is really up yet, but Stiles, did you want to make breakfast or something? Pancakes are really all I have to offer.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, sliding out of the bed. Lydia flops down onto the empty space beneath him, groans, and then gets out of bed with him.

The smell of bacon wakes the rest of the pack up when Stiles starts cooking it, along with scrambled eggs and French toast.

“You really can cook,” Lydia says, watching in fascination at just how comfortable Stiles is in the kitchen. Stiles chuckles, not turning around to look at her, but he points off to one side with a spatula. Lydia follows it with her eyes and sees the biggest cookbook she’s ever seen in her life resting on a shelf barely big enough for it, below the microwave.

“Wow,” Lydia says.

“We add to it too,” Erica says around a piece of bacon. “Whenever either one of us finds a recipe online and we like it, or if Stiles is experimenting with random things and it ends up _awesome._ ”

“And that happens often?” she questions.

“More often than you’d think,” Derek answers, and Cora snorts through a mouthful of syrupy bacon.

After breakfast, Lydia, Stiles, Scott, and Allison all pile into the jeep—Lydia in the front so she’s guaranteed to see everything—for her grand tour of Beacon Hills.

“It’s not that big a town,” Allison says from behind her. “It took Scott and Stiles like, twenty minutes to show me the whole town.”

“So when did you move here?” Lydia asks, twisting momentarily in her seat to look at her; they’re still in the preserve, so all she’s missing is trees anyways.

“About halfway of sophomore year,” Allison replies. “Which, coincidentally, was the same time Scott got bit.”

“Are we sure that was a coincidence?” Stiles says, turning on to the main road and speeding up slightly.

Allison just shrugs. “It certainly didn’t help,” she concedes.

Scott gently shoves Lydia back to facing forwards after that, and Stiles starts chattering on about the various things they pass. There’s the school, the mall (that she’s already seen), and the small strip mall not too far away from it that has a video store, the grocery store, a liquor store, and one or two home businesses squished in alongside. After that, there’s the residential areas, the vet’s office—“Dr. Deaton’s a friend, he’s pretty cool, if not really mysterious,” Scott tells her—and the other small businesses littering the town, including the sheriff’s department (which isn’t actually that small). They don’t really have a planned route, though, instead driving around to places as they think of them, so it takes longer than it normally would. Lydia suspects it’s really just to kill time, but she doesn’t find she minds much, if at all.

“And that’s pretty much it,” Stiles tells her. “The preserve takes up like, half the town.”

“Seems like it,” Allison agrees. “What should we do now?”

“We could go out for lunch,” Scott suggests. “There’s only one diner in this town, but it’s _awesome._ ”

It really is, Lydia finds out.

“I don’t even like burgers,” she says around a massive bite of cheeseburger, and a moan. Stiles laughs and snags a fry from her plate. She growls at him, which surprises her, but not him it seems, because he just grins cheekily at her. He doesn’t even blink when she takes one of his onion rings in revenge.

“So. Fucking. Adorable,” Allison whispers to Scott, who laughs and kisses her cheek. Stiles rolls his eyes.

When they get back home, Stiles and Lydia spend a good chunk of time moving her new things into his bedroom and sorting it. There’s music she’s picked playing from his IPod the whole time, and she chucks various things at his head every time one of his weirder songs comes on.

“It’s good!” is his protest every single time, catching whatever she throws at him. Except the t-shirt. That had hit him neatly in the side of the head, knocking him off balance momentarily.

Lydia helps him make dinner that night, pointedly ignoring the pack’s comments about how cute they look.

Stiles makes her feel safe. Why should it go beyond that?

(It goes beyond that.)

She spends the next couple of weeks adjusting to pack life, and werewolf life. As the full moon comes closer, Stiles and whichever werewolf that’s with them that day (and, more often than not, Allison) teaches her about anchoring, and how to control herself during the full moon.

“It’ll take practice, obviously,” Stiles says. “But with any luck we won’t have to like, tie you down, so.”

“That’s very comforting,” she says, and he smiles sympathetically at her.

“Look,” he says, leaning forward. “Just, find an anchor, okay? Some people, like Derek and Isaac, use emotions, some people, like Scott, use other people. Just, find someone or something to keep you grounded.”

“Okay,” she nods.

The night of the full moon, the pack is tucked away into the abandoned warehouse that for some reason has as subway car in it. Usually, they’ll spend it out in the forest, but with it being Lydia’s first full moon, they’ve deemed it too risky to be anywhere near people. As it is, Stiles and Allison, who are undoubtedly the closest to Lydia, have to hold a twenty minute long argument with Scott to be able to be with the rest of them.

Ten minutes after the moon has risen, Allison’s next to Stiles, trying not to chew on her nails as they watch Scott and Lydia. Scott, who’s pinning Lydia to the ground with Derek’s help. Lydia, who’s snarling up at them, wolfed out and fighting them for all she’s worth.

Erica and Cora are off romping in the darkness together somewhere, burning off energy. Isaac and Boyd, meanwhile, are standing between the two humans and three wolves, in an effort to keep them away from Lydia and any potential danger she might put them in.

Stiles is having none of it. He feels like one more disjointed howl from Lydia he hears is going to cause _him_ to wolf out. He’s starting to make these weird little noises that he suspects he wouldn’t be able to control if he tried. He’s itching to get over to her, and _do something_. It’s not like Derek and Scott are helping, after all.

So, like he usually does, he enlists Allison’s help. He presses his hand to the middle of her back, running his fingers over her skin in a pattern she recognizes. A pattern they’ve both come to recognize as _You distract while I run._ She looks over at him, eyebrows raised to her hairline, but relents easily when he gives her a pleading look in return.

In true Allison style, frankly, she doesn’t even hesitate before flinging herself at the boys. Stiles doesn’t actually see what any of them do, Allison included, because he’s already rushing past them and skidding to his knees next to Lydia’s head.

“Stiles, move!” Scott says, eyes blazing red and voice cold. Stiles stares him down though, just as unrelenting as Scott is.

Lydia snarls at him, and manages to get a hand out from under Derek’s body to whip it up at his face. He catches it though, grasps it firmly in both of his and not letting go. And just like that, Lydia calms down.

She stares up at him with yellow eyes that rapidly bleed back into green. Claws retract from where they’re digging into his palms, and her ears shrink back to rounded edges. Her fangs are still visible, peeking out between plush lips, but still.

“Stiles?” she asks, looking up at him.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly.

“Why are there people on me?”

Derek doesn’t need any more prompting, rolling off of her and into a standing position in one smooth move. Scott twists off of her too, onto the ground next to her instead. Lydia lifts her other hand to find his, calming herself further with her Alpha’s touch.

“Sorry about that,” Scott says. “You were a little, uh, not here.”

She nods, understanding. “I get it,” she promises. Allison comes over a few seconds later, and smiles when she sees them.

“Told you that you should’ve let us near her,” she says as she curls up on the ground, squished pleasantly between the three of them.

Scott rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he mutters.

Lydia ends up only dragging herself up off the ground far enough to put her head in Stiles’ lap, and stays there for the next hour, control unwavering throughout the rest of the moonrise. They only move once, and that’s when they both start to feel slightly achy from the hard floor. Scott and Allison help Lydia over to the couch they’ve brought in here, and she curls up between all three of them. The rest of the pack slowly come over in pairs and join them, sprawling out on the floor together in a tangle of limbs.

When the moon has been replaced by the sun in the sky they head back to the house. As she slumps up the stairs behind an equally tired Stiles, she hears Scott and Allison in their room, door having not been closed yet, apparently.

“It’s weird,” Scott is saying. “She’s has way more control than I ever did when I was first bitten.”

“Maybe its Stiles,” Allison suggests, and there’s a rustle of clothing that suggests she’s changing into PJs. “I mean, I know he was around with you too, but he’s a lot calmer now, and she seems pretty stuck to his side. He’s her anchor, undoubtedly.”

“I feel like there’s something we’re missing, though,” Scott sighs, and then there’s the distinct sound of the door closing.

Lydia doesn’t dwell on it that night, simply collapsing next to Stiles on the bed, still fully clothed. She was only wearing a pair of nice yoga pants and a tank top anyways, something that wouldn’t be going to waste in case she’d accidentally ripped them during the full moon.

She does start dwelling on it later, though.

It’s true she was closer to Stiles than any of the rest of them. Sure, the pack bond that Stiles had told her about early on is there full force, connecting her to the other pack members. She cuddles with them just as much as they cuddle with each other, and they cuddle back with force she recognized as enthusiasm, loving her like a normal wolf pack would a new pup.

But Stiles is different. She is more attuned to him, somehow, knows how he’s feeling almost as well as she knows how she herself is. It’s never struck her as odd before though, and she mentally curses herself for not noticing this earlier. More than that, she knows, by wolf instinct and her own intelligence, that Stiles feels it too, the same deeper connection they seem to be sharing.

Without any answers, though, and no way to get answers without revealing she’d been listening in on a private conversation between her Alpha and his mate, the questions that multiplied practically by the minute would have to wait.

A week after the full moon is the Fourth of July, and she starts getting a little more clued in to the mystery that is currently revolving around Lydia and Stiles.

“What the hell is that?” she asks, pillowing her head on her arms so she’s level with the shot glasses as Stiles lines nine of them up—one for each pack member—and pours a thick purple liquid into the bottom of seven of them. It goes practically solid at the bottom on the glasses, filling up barely a centimeter of them; Lydia crinkles her nose at it.

“The one thing that gets werewolves drunk,” Stiles says grandly, gesturing wildly with his arms as he slides across the kitchen in his socks to dig out multiple bottles of liquor out of the cupboard above the stove. “Found a recipe for it in a book of Deaton’s. Has some wolfsbane in it, which is what gives it both the colour and its magicalness.” He does weird hand motions during the last bit, nearly dropping the bottle in his hand.

“And why do we want to get drunk?” Lydia says, tilting her head.

“Each year on July Fourth, we, as a pack, play a drinking game,” Stiles explains as he takes a tray out from under the sink and starts loading it with bottles and the shot glasses. The bottle with the purple liquid is included, Lydia notices. “We have a rotation on who gets to pick the game. Two games a night: one to get drunk, the other once we are. It can be anything you want, as long as it’s official. We do it on basically every holiday.”

“And this year,” Allison says, sweeping in the front door Scott’s holding open for her carrying a stack of pizza boxes piled high in her arms, “we are playing Never Have I Ever.”

Stiles groans. “You know I hate that game,” he complains, following her into the living room with his tray. Allison’s answering laugh is dangerously close to a cackle.

“What am I missing?” Lydia says to the room in general, knowing everyone she’s asking will hear her. Isaac practically materializes next to her and explains,

“Stiles had this girlfriend freshman year. She was, um, kind of crazy. Did some pretty kinky shit with Stiles.” His cheeks go slightly pink at this. “So basically, whenever we play Never Have I Ever, Stiles gets really drunk, really quickly.”

“Which is why we love it,” Erica says, sweeping in through the doorway that leads into the kitchen from the hallways that connects to the staircase. “Stiles is an _awesome_ drunk.”

Lydia hears Stiles groan again from the living room, and she laughs lightly to hide the jealousy that’s seeping through her. She has no reason to be jealous of previous girlfriends of Stiles, after all, especially since werewolves can smell emotions, jealousy included. She squashes it down, focuses on the fact they’ve obviously broken up now, and goes into the living room to take her place in the circle on the floor, in between Stiles and Boyd.

They eat first, making sure not to drink on empty stomachs, and then Stiles and Cora hand out shot glasses and lay out the bottles for everyone.

“Pick your poison,” Stiles says as he sits down next to her. “God, I can already see the massive hangover I’m going to have tomorrow. I hate you all.”

“I’m probably not much better off,” Lydia admits. “Jackson was…well…” She looks down at her hands awkwardly, so she misses the look and smell of anger that flashes through Stiles.

Allison raises an eyebrow at them both, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she claps her hands together, grins, and says,

“Remember, only make them non-sexual if you absolutely have to, and that basically means when you’ve done every weird act in the book.”

“So, only Stiles,” Derek says, and Stiles scowls at him. Allison laughs and says,

“Who wants to go first?”

Erica volunteers, and they go left from her. After everyone has had a turn, Stiles has taken eight shots, Lydia, Erica, and Cora have all had six, Derek, Boyd, Allison, and Scott have had five, and Isaac’s had four.

“Still hate this game,” Stiles says, his words only slightly slurred.

“At least you’ve gotten better at holding your liquor,” Derek says, and Erica laughs, longer and harder than she would’ve without the shots.

Every third shot the werewolves take have to have the purple gunk added to the bottom of their glass again, but it’s a system Lydia gets used to quickly. Her blood boils with every shot Stiles takes though, because it’s one more increasingly weird sexual act he’s done. The pack doesn’t seem to notice her increasing jealousy, though, because they’re getting as drunk as she is, and laughing at Stiles. And they are right, she supposes, as the alcohol goes through her system and makes her floaty, he’s freaking hilarious when he’s drunk.

If she thought Stiles flailed a lot when he was sober, or talked a lot, she was wrong. Drunk Stiles is pretty much solely flopping limbs, as if they’re all new to him and he’s testing them out. He’s looser than she’s ever seen him, and she wonders if this is what he was like normally before all the things he’s told her about happened.

“You’re pretty,” he tells her at one point, with a completely straight face, and then flops his head onto her shoulder like it’s nothing.

Once they are all properly drunk, they move on to Truth Or Dare, Cora’s choice, which Lydia is convinced is just an excuse for pack members to get others to make out with each other. She herself makes out with Allison, Isaac, and Stiles, who she ends up making out with for nearly ten minutes until Scott eventually has to physically force them apart and sit in between them. Fortunately, they’re all drunk enough to laugh it off—even Derek, and this is the first time she’s actually heard him laugh—and not question the two of them about it.

Eventually, Scott, forever the responsible Alpha, starts herding them upstairs. Lydia has the common sense to drink a glass of water, and to shove one into Stiles’ face until he does too, before they go to bed. They both still wake up with headaches though, although Stiles is worse than hers due to lack of werewolf healing.

“Yours will go away by like, noon,” Stiles complains, stuffing his face further into his pillow as Lydia laughs and gets up to go the washroom. She takes an Advil while she’s in there, and then grabs two more and a glass of water for Stiles.

“You’re awesome,” he says as he takes it, gulping everything down in seconds.

I’d probably have something better if I knew how drunk you were going to get,” Lydia says primly, sitting on the bed next to him and folding her legs neatly underneath her. “Your old girlfriend seems to be quite the adventurer.”

Stiles grimaces and runs a hand over her face. “Yeah.” He draws the word out. “Or insane, either one works.”

Lydia barks out a laugh. “Why’d you date her, then?”

He glances up from his hands to look at her face before sliding out of the bed and going to his dresser. He shrugs and takes his shirt off before turning around to dig out a new one.

“You know, I’m really not sure,” he says thoughtfully. “I mean, the sex was awesome, really awesome, but other than that, there wasn’t much between us.” He shrugs again, scrunching up his face in thought. “I’m gonna go with loneliness.” When she gives him a puzzled face coupled with a slight tilt of the head, he elaborates. “Senior and junior year of high school, we all got really close, pack bond full force, blahblahblah. Well, then we all went away to college, and it hit all of kind of hard. But Cora and Allison weren’t too far away from each other and Scott came up to visit Allison, like, every weekend, because you know, mates. Although, admittedly, sometimes he drove down to New York on Sunday to hang with me. And Erica and Boyd were only like half an hour apart and shared an apartment, and Derek and Scott and Isaac were all back here together if Derek wasn’t up living with Cora and…” He gives a vague arm gesture. “I was lonely, so Caitlin happened.”

She does her best to quench the jealousy that rises up at the knowledge of Stiles’ ex-girlfriend’s name.

He finishes getting dressed while she studiously looks away, and offers her an arm as they leave the room and head downstairs for breakfast.

Lydia spends the next week staying awake for almost an hour after they go to bed, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about how many other girls have shared a bed with Stiles.

It’s a stupid thought. She herself has slept with frankly, far more men—okay, who is she kidding, boys—than she’s proud of, Jackson the least of which. But one bubble of thought that even relates to _Caitlin_ , and her blood is boiling. She has to reach for Stiles to stop her fangs and claws from sprouting right then.

She wouldn’t be surprised if Stiles knew about her inner turmoil, but he doesn’t say anything about it for a while, or Caitlin. Whenever she grabs his hand during the night, though, she somehow ends up pressed against him. Not that she minds. And one night, just after she gets pulled against his side, he mutters, still half asleep,

“You got nothing to worry about, you know.”

She stops worrying, after that.

Multiple times, she catches various members of the pack watch the two of them, trying to figure them out, but it stops worrying Lydia. They are what they are. He’s her anchor. It’s obviously a big enough connection that it affects her.

Right?

Three weeks and another full moon later, and Lydia has decided to move to Antarctica, because it is way too fucking hot in Beacon Hills in the beginning of August.

“It’s usually like this,” Allison says. “The rest of the year, you kind of forget you live in California, but August is like Hell has come for revenge.”

“It’s like this the whole month?” she groans, flopping back on the couch. She and Allison are the only ones in the living room. Cora’s upstairs, doing a school project that was assigned over the summer, and Stiles is in the kitchen. Lydia can’t tell what he’s doing, but she can smell vanilla and milk and hear lots of things rattling. Everyone else is at the high school, which apparently opens up the pools during the summer.

“Yeah,” Allison sighs, reaching behind her to crank the air conditioner up higher. “On the bright side, Stiles also usually spends the whole month making ice cream, so.”

“That’s what he’s doing?” she asks, rising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. It’s really good, too,” Allison promises.

As if on cue, Stiles pops his head out of the kitchen doorway. There’s a smudge of vanilla on his cheek that Lydia is trying not to find stupidly adorable.

“I can hear you talking about me,” he accuses. “Are there any werewolves in the house?”

“Cora’s upstairs,” Allison tells him.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m turning on the ice cream maker, now, Cora.” He doesn’t even raise his voice.

“She says okay,” Lydia says a moment later, head tilted. “And she just closed her door. Is it that loud?”

Stiles shrugs. “Not to me or Allison, but there’s something about it that pisses off the wolves or something. You might want to go upstairs too.”

“K,” Lydia replies, unfolding her legs from under her to get up. “I want to call my mom, anyways.”

So she goes upstairs, and has a lovely conversation with her mother, all about her being in Australia at the moment. She barely asks even where Lydia is, or if she’s still with Jackson.

“We broke up,” Lydia says, cracking the door slightly and wincing at the hideous grinding noise that comes through. She closes it again, quickly.

“That’s a shame,” her mother sighs. “Well, hope you find someone new. I have to go, honey. Love you.”

“You too,” she says, and her mother hangs up at the same time she does.

She fiddles around in the room for another few minutes, trying to figure out all the things that have changed since she moved in. She cracks the door open every few minutes, going back downstairs when she can’t hear anything but voices and can smell the sweet, crisp and somehow cool scent ice cream gives off.

Lydia walks back down the stairs, hearing Cora just ahead of her. Stiles is scooping up perfect spheres of vanilla ice cream from the machine into four bowls when she comes into the kitchen.

She takes one of the full bowls from him when he hands it to her, not even bothering to ask if everything’s natural’ she knows it is.  
Not only can she smell things better now that she’s a werewolf, she can taste things better too. Unfortunately, this means that pretty much anything unnatural wreaks an absolute havoc on her taste buds. The other wolves have assured her it dims after a couple of months, but for now, she’s sticking to basics.

And she doesn’t even have to ask Stiles to make it that way for her.

The four of them end up eating the whole batch of ice cream, sitting on the kitchen counters and enjoying the cool air coming in from the living room air conditioner and the fan set up on the top of the fridge that’s angled downwards.

“You should make more,” Allison says, carefully leaning over to place her bowl in the sink. “For the rest of the pack, I mean.”

“Sure,” Stiles says, in a tone that clearly conveys how little he believes her. He still slides off of the counter though, opening the fridge. “What kind? Oh hey, Lydia, could you wash the mixer please?”

“Tropical,” Cora says immediately, at the same time Lydia says, “Sure, Stiles.”

“Ooh, yeah!” Allison says, nodding rapidly in agreement. “I know that’s one of Scott’s favourites too.”

“Fine,” Stiles says, as Lydia turns off the tap and grabs a towel to dry off the newly cleaned ice cream maker. “But only because there’s way too much fruit sitting in this fridge. And as long as you promise to not have creepy mate sex with Scott with it,” he adds.

“Oh my God,” Allison says, halting both Stiles and Lydia in their tracks to turn to her. Cora’s already gone back upstairs. Allison’s eyes are wide as her smile, excitement dancing across her features.

“What?” Stiles asks uncertainly.

“You guys are mates!” Allison says excitedly. “Oh my God, how did none of us realize that?”

“Mates,” Lydia repeats slowly, feeling a little dizzy.

“Okay, um,” Stiles says, and then, in one fluid motion, dumps the fruit in his arms on the counter, grabs Lydia’s hand, and tugs her up the stairs. Allison doesn’t move to follow them, which both of them are incredibly thankful for.

Stiles doesn’t relent his grip on her until they’re standing in the threshold of their room. _Their room_. It suddenly seems heavier, less effortless.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Stiles soothes, running his hands up and down her arms in a calming gesture, which of course works immediately. “This doesn’t have to change anything, okay? Being mates is really just a sturdier version of me being your anchor. We’re just more connected, alright? It doesn’t have to mean anything else. Nothing romantic.”

Lydia licks her lips, regarding Stiles with quiet intensity. She realizes, all at once, that it’s never been nothing with Stiles. That it’s always been leading up to some kind of moment like this. Something romantic. So, in true Lydia Martin style (the one she’d mostly left behind in New York), she steels her resolve, flips her hair over her shoulder, and says,

“And what if I want it to be something romantic?”

Stiles blinks at her, stunned into silence. A sinking feeling washes through Lydia, turns her blood to ice, as she thinks that maybe her feelings aren’t reciprocated. That Stiles just said what he said because that’s how he wants it to go.

Then his eyes flick to her lips. Just for a moment, but her advanced eyesight and quick reflexes catches it. She grins, and tosses herself forward to kiss him.

It’s not a sweet kiss, or even a gentle one; there’s been, if they’re being honest with themselves, sexual tension between them for weeks, so their first kiss is one full of hunger and lust. On the whole, Lydia thinks, it’s a pretty good kiss.

She pulls away for air, and Stiles takes this as an opportunity to pick her up with strong hands under her thighs. She takes the hint, wrapping her legs around his hips, and he backs her up against the still-open door to close it.

“Soundproofing only works if the door is closed,” he mumbles, kissing down her neck.

“Bed,” she whispers. “I am not having sex with you for the first time against a wall.”

“I’d make it awesome,” he whispers into her skin, but obliges anyway by pulling away from the wall and carrying her over to their bed. There, he dumps her onto it, and she laughs until her breath is pushed out of her body from Stiles laying his body on top of hers.

“Remind me to thank Allison later,” Lydia says, and Stiles laughs against her lips.

Whatever plans there were of making ice cream quickly collapse in favour of spending the next—okay, so maybe they both lost track of time here, but that’s not important—in bed.

Their first time is rushed, a little sloppy, but still perfect, all grunts and load moans that makes Lydia—when she’s capable of thinking, that is—really freaking thankful someone thought to soundproof the bedrooms. Their second time is sweeter, slower, more like making love than fucking or even having sex. Their second time is all soft kisses and sparks of light behind Lydia’s eyelids and breathy gasps from both of them. The third time—thank God for quick recovery periods—is almost sillier, moans broken by laughter when Lydia digs her fingers into Stiles ribs. Or when Stiles tries to roll them over so he’s back on top and almost smashes his head into the headboard, and Lydia laughs so hard she ends up hitting her own head on it.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” Stiles asks, even though he knows she is. She is, after all, a freaking werewolf.

“Shut up,” Lydia replies, hitching her hips up against his and pulling him down for a kiss.

After they’re both finally sated, they lie on their sides, facing each other. The sheet is only pulled up to hip length, but neither one of them feel the slightest bit self-conscious. Lydia guesses it has something to do with the mate bond she’s heard so much of it.

She’ll probably be hearing about it a lot more, now.

“Still with me?” Stiles asks quietly, his fingers skittering up and down her bare side. Goosebumps litter her skin in their wake, and she shivers and nods.

“Sorry,” she says, and smiles when he does.

“Totally good,” he promises, and darts forward to plant a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose; she sighs happily.

“You realize everyone is totally going to tease us,” she says, reaching for his hand, still on the curve of her waist, to entwine their fingers together.

“Probably,” he agrees. “I really don’t care all that much, though.”

“Me neither,” she replies, and they grin in unison again.

“So I was thinking…” Stiles says, and Lydia raises a questioning eyebrow. “You said you’ve already graduated, right?”

Lydia nods proudly. “Why?”

Stiles chew his lip. “Well, I’ve still got another year at NYU, and for the past three years I’ve been staying in the dorms, but I was thinking about getting an off-campus apartment this year, and Scott says that he and Allison apparently both had like, horrible separation anxiety for the first while, and—”

“Stiles,” Lydia cuts him off, “are you trying to ask me to move to New York with you for the school year?”

“Yes?” Stiles says. “It wasn’t going very well, though.”

Lydia laughs, clear and bright, and presses her lips against his again. “Good enough to get a yes,” she says against his lips, and his lips split into a grin.

When they finally go downstairs, Lydia wearing one of Stiles’ shirts over a pair of shorts, they almost fall down the stairs when Lydia unexpectedly jumps on Stiles’ back. He lets out a strangled little noise from the back of his throat that’s closer to a squeak than anything, and his hands both fly out from where they’re hanging loosely at his sides. One goes up to clutch under her knee, and the other goes to the railing to keep their balance.

“You’re a menace,” Stiles says when he’s sure that neither of them are in any danger of falling.

Lydia hums in response, and he feels her shrug. “I’m just glad you have quick reflexes.”

Stiles starts grumbling things that make Lydia grin into his neck when she rests her chin on his shoulder. That’s how they end up entering the living room, with Lydia curled around Stiles, giggling into his neck, and Stiles carrying her like it’s nothing, looking over his shoulder every two seconds to look at her, grinning just as largely as she is.

The whole pack is in there, most still damp from the pool. Everyone smiles at them when they come in. Scott gives them one look and says to Allison,

“Okay, how did we miss this?”

Lydia and Allison both laugh, and Scott continues to Stiles,

“You do know I’m now allowed to tease you about being mated as you did to me.”

Stiles groans, loudly and dramatically, and Lydia presses a sympathetic kiss to his cheekbone, which is the part of his face closest to his mouth she can reach.

Mated.

She likes the sound of that.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll admit, this turned out a lot longer than I originally expected. Um, okay, so I kinda have a very hesitant sequel idea bouncing around in my head, if anyone's interested? Danny would probably be in it, as well as the twins and maybe Jackson. And the Beacon Hills pack too, obsv. Let me know if you're interested, I guess?  
> Hoped everyone liked it.  
> [My Tumblr](http://dylanodorky.tumblr.com)
> 
> Sequel [Here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1369699)


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